


A Lesson in Grief and Family

by ArtemisEmrys



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Tony, Blood and Gore, Incompetent Bad Guys, Slight Stark-Spangled -Banner if you squint, Trauma, tony's family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 16:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12136461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisEmrys/pseuds/ArtemisEmrys
Summary: Director Fury learned something today.





	A Lesson in Grief and Family

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t really know what I was trying to accomplish here, but I hope someone enjoys it. I was thinking of naming it ‘Grief and Fury’ but then realized how corny that sounded. Thank the gods. Please read and review, it really gets me going when you do. If you squint really hard, you may see a Stark/Spangled/Banner ship in here, but this is not a romance, at all. Lots of swearing, but it’s in Fury’s POV after all.

“Oh, Fuck.”

Fury mentally sighed, even as he whipped around peer through the wreckage to see what had Barton cursing with that special tone of ‘We’re all screwed’ ringing in his voice. He didn’t know how things could get more fucked, but since it was Stark behind him, he decided to withhold his disbelief.

The day had started normally enough. Fury, in town on other SHIELD business, had decided to sit in on one of the Avengers’ team briefings (or as Rogers joking called them ‘family meetings’) that was being held in the Avengers Tower. He only knew about it because Coulson had mentioned it in passing, saying that he’d be away from headquarters for at least a week after the meeting, dealing with the fallout of the latest alien invasion (of Wisconsin this time, what the fuck? Who invades Wisconsin?). Barton had been pretty roughed up by that one. Lasers to the stomach were one of the few, very few, things that could put Hawkeye off his balance, but there you go. Fury knew Coulson had special interest in the SHIELD archer, so he let it pass, barring emergency.

So there Fury was, observing the meeting from the back of the long workshop, propped up between a fabrication unit and what looked like the beginning of a hovercraft when it all hit the fan. Hard. Everyone was there, except Thor, who was off world at the moment, taking care of ‘important Asgardian affairs’ or so he said. Fury wouldn’t put it past him to be visiting his psycho-killer brother in jail, however. 

Though the talk in the meeting was serious, the rapport between the Avengers team was obvious, hard fought for, and caused a sense of relaxed companionship to pervade the room. Fury, though he’d never say it out loud, was happy that the Avengers seemed to include him in their little party. Barton even threw a few snarky comments his way, while Banner sat to his left, apparently calm and relaxed despite Fury’s connection to American military and just about everything the Other Guy despised.

Rogers was just starting to gently scold Stark for some needlessly reckless action he had pulled involving a dairy truck, a combine, about twenty cows and a grain silo when one of the glass walls behind him shattered. The force of the blast forced Fury up and off his feet, and he came down hard, but managed to roll so that he when he gained his feet, his customary weapon was in hand. Bruce skittered off to his left, breathing hard and skin slightly green tinged, but obviously fighting the change. Hulking out in the middle of one of Tony’s tech-filled workshops was not a good idea at the best of times, especially when surrounded by some sort of laser-blaster wielding antimilitary association.

This was not going to end well, for anyone, for three main reasons.

One, JARVIS had not immediately alerted them to the intrusion, which means someone had managed to hack and possibly completely shut down their super powerful, super intelligent super AI. When Stark had a moment to think about that, someone was going to be in a world of hurt. Fury was sure that the other Avengers, inordinately fond of the dry-witted, loyal AI, would only back him up in hunting them down. Heads were gonna roll, and Fury was going to be well out of the way when that started happening. He knew when to make a strategic retreat, and this would be one of those times.

Secondly, this group, maybe HYDRA, maybe AIM, maybe fuck-it-all-who-cares had managed to plan this so they would attack exactly when all but one of the present avengers had no access to their weapons of choice. Of course, Coulson and Fury had their guns and tazers, but fuck all the help that would be against what appeared to be Kevlar and helmet wearing idiots wielding sonic blasters, Star Trek brand phasers, and FUCK, was that a flamethrower? Shit. Cap was shieldless, Barton without his bow and quiver, and Natasha with only about thirty percent of her knives. Damn. They even managed to trap them in a room with only one exit, the only other possible option being an eighty story drop to the ground below. Stark, the only one with current access to a means of flight would be fine, but the rest of them he wasn’t so sure of. Well, he’d seen footage of Iron Man catching more people from higher up, so he had a glimmer of hope, but only a glimmer

That mean that this had to be, at least partially, an inside job, and when he figured what fuckwad under his command had set them all up, the term ‘cruel and u usual punishment’ would seem like a gift compared to what he would do to the fucker.

Finally, it was never good to catch any of the Avengers with their pants down and corner them. He knew that this was going to be a mess from the moment it started.

All of this only took a second to flash through his mind and then he was leaping, moving forward to help the team defend themselves with anything that they could find. Stark had slipped on the suitcase suit (and weren’t their would-be captors stupid for not being absolutely SURE that was out of the way) and was blasting his repulsors steadily, having to move very carefully in close quarters in order to avoid hitting his team or his robots. He didn’t seem to be having any trouble with it, moving quickly and with deadly accuracy, so Fury turned his back to him, moving to help the others. 

They had only been fighting a few minutes when Barton’s low spoken expletive cut through the laser screams, the thuds of fists going through plexi-glass helmets, and the sound of Coulson’s tazer and stapler taking out man after man, his inventive use of death-by-office supply complementing Natasha’s more obvious blunt force trauma by laboratory stool technique seamlessly.

The entirety of the Avengers team froze and stared behind him, causing their pursuers to hesitate as well, and Fury oh so did not want to turn around, but he knew he had to, fuck, and turned only to see-

A robot. One of Stark’s creepy arm-bots was flailing on the cement floor of the workshop, high-pitched squeals and hydraulic fluid flowing out of it and across the floor. It’s head, arm, servo, whatever was crushed and sparks flew from it in all directions as it writhed. The other two bots, they had names, Fury was sure they had names, but couldn’t be fucked to remember right then, gathered around it, arm-head things bent low, and somehow radiating agitation without anything resembling a face. Fuck, what was wrong with them? Why had everyone stopped fighting for this? Now was not the time to be-

“Oh, shit.” And Fury finally got really worried, because that was Steve, that was Captain America, and Captain America did not curse. “Oh, shit, that’s Dummy. Shit, shit, shit. Everyone stand back, now.” Fury turned to stare at him, unable to believe what was happening here, about to chew them all out and get them back to kicking the shit out of these infiltrators when Natasha reached out and grabbed his arm, tugging him solidly between her and Steve. 

“Fury! Get your ass over here, now!”

Fury didn’t even have time to reprimand her. It all went down way too quickly. He turned around in time to see Stark, kneeling beside his fallen, morbidly silent and still robot, blue fluid splashed down the suit and pooling between his armored knees, and then he was up. There had been about twenty five goons left, most of them either knocked out, dead, or having fled when they realized this was a fight they were not going to win, that they had miscalculated. The rest of the mob, obviously the most idiotic of the group, had remained, and had frozen with the Avengers when Barton’s hoarse expletive had cut through the noise of the fight.

That had been their final mistake. They should have just gotten the hell out of there while they still could.

Fury watched, mouth hanging slightly open and his one eye stretched wide, as the two men closest to Stark simply exploded. Iron Man had placed his repulsors in the center of their chest and had hit them full blast with arc reactor energy, and their bodies had simply been unable to cope. Before the rain of their remains had even splattered across the walls and floor, Iron Man was moving, cracking his fists into helmets, which removed a few of them with the head still inside. Bodies dropped to the ground like flies. 

One man, having dropped to the floor after a blow to the solar plexus with gauntleted hands had his skull crushed, helmet and all, under a heavy armored boot. Stark didn’t even look down.

The last ten men tried to scatter, but had allowed Stark to cut off their only exit during the initial fighting, a stupid move on their part, well more stupid than attacking Iron Man on his own turf had been in the first place and then harming one of his robot children right in front of him. The only way they were going to escape was to go through the armored Avenger or out one of the shattered windows blowing in freezing air behind them.

They were not going through Iron Man.

Stark grabbed a man’s head in his hands, ripped the helmet off, pressed his metal fingers into the man’s eyes and squeezed. The goon’s gurgling screams of pain were hellish as blood pooled up in his mouth, dripped down from his eyes and flowed like water down his chin, until with a sickly pop! the sound stopped and Stark dropped him like a wet sack of manure, moving on to his next target.

Fury figured now might be a time for them to move. He didn’t know what else Stark was capable of when he was like this, but it didn’t look like it would be pretty.

Fury, finally shaking himself, managed to herd the other Avengers back and away, letting them take out the two closest to them with well aim hits to a nerve cluster or a stapler to the face. One man, stumbling back and pointing his flame thrower franticly as he panicked, tripped over something, possibly the head of one of his compatriots. He flipped back out the hole behind him, the glass shredding his back as he fell. His screams were lost to the howling wind inherent at being so high up within moments.

Turning back, Fury saw that the last of the men was cowering, having dropped his weapon, with his hands over his head, whimpering. He was dressed slightly differently than the others had been, obviously some sort of leader, but none of his supposed authority was helping him now. Fury looked down and sneered disdainfully. The man had actually wet himself, and was huddled in a puddle of blood and urine, wimpering. Fury actually felt bad for the sorry fucker. He took a step forward to stop this, was going to state that they needed at least one to be alive and lucid to question, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Looking back at Rogers and Coulson, he saw them shake their heads no. Well, fuck. He turned back to the scene in front of him, resigned.

“You.” Stark’s voice, filtered by the Iron Man suit, was as dark as Fury had ever heard it. The slight tone of hysteria was even more warning, and Fury wondered if they would be the ones fighting off the man when this was over. Grief did things to people, and even though he couldn’t see it behind the blank metal of Stark’s faceplate, he could easily imagine the manic snarling smile, cold at the edges and viciously cruel, that was spreading across Tony’s face. He wouldn’t be surprised if the little whack-job flew off the reservation after this. He’d seen people with less power and more sanity than Tony Stark go off for less.

This, Fury thought with resigned dread, this he did not need.

“You did this.” Iron Man snarled. “You hurt Dummy. My Dummy!”  
“No, I-I didn’t mean to, I-“ and that was all the man got out before Iron Man moved across the room, faster than Fury had ever seen him move, and once again ripped off this he helmet of the screaming man. Fury, expecting the same eye-popping performance as before, steeled himself for another gruesome and bloody body to hit the floor.

But Stark, ever the contrarian, rarely ever did the same thing the same way twice.

He wrenched the man’s head back and shoved his arm, gauntlet and all, down the man’s screaming throat. That would have been enough to kill any man, but it was not enough for Stark, still caught in his rage, in his grief, in the thought that his oldest, most loyal friend was lost to him forever, because of This Man.

Even through the man’s body the sound of the repulsors heating up and firing could be heard. The man, choking, managed a garbled wail for half a second before he was silenced. Fury assumed that there wasn’t enough left inside to make noise anymore. The man’s hands went limp where they had been scrambling at Tony’s armored thighs and his eyes went glossy, before his body started to glow at the throat, then smoke, the crumble from the sheer amount of heat being steadily pumped into him.

Even after the man had crumpled away, nothing but foul-smelling dust and ashes and a few scattered appendages, the repulsors continued to melt the concrete floor for a full minute before puttering out. The room was silent, the only sound being Stark’s harsh breathing still being broadcast over the intercom and the low hiss of the wind through the broken window. A fire crackled somewhere and wires fizzed, but all was still. Fury and the other Avengers stayed still, in shock maybe, until Iron Man just seemed to collapse to his knees. He crawled part way across the lab, flipping up his helmet, and pulling the robot’s crushed head into his lap. He shakily pulled off his gauntlets, running his hands of the large, still metal frame through spilt oil and other fluids, and he sobbed.

Fury, still frozen himself, felt himself stiffen as the other Avengers shifted around him. He should… he should do something, get them all out of there, call an emergency meeting, because Iron Man had obviously lost what little tie he had had to sanity, and everyone was up shit creek at this point. He had to- Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Tony?” That was Banner, moving cautiously around him. Fury wanted to grab him, pull him back, but then the entire team, including Coulson, was moving forward slowly. Steve and Banner were the first to reach him, crouching down. Steve with a hand on a hard armored shoulder, Banner’s on his armored knee. The other Avengers gathered close, kneeling or sitting, all placing a hand or two on the shivering armor in front of them, providing support and comfort.

Fury cautiously moved forward, all his senses on high alert, but unable to drag his gaze from the scene in front of him.

Tony’s eyes, huge and pained and wet, stared up at all of them, wet lashes blinking back tears. “Dummy,” he croaked. “Dummy’s hurt. He hurt Dummy.”

“Yes, we know,” soothed Banner, “But it’s going to be all right. Okay, Tony?” He placed his other hand up to the wet cheek cupping it, running his thumb softly through the tear tracts. Fury wondered absently if he had he been crying in the suit this whole time.

“Yeah, man.” Barton leaned closer, an arm going across red and gold shoulders. “If anyone can fix him, it’d be you, right?” Stark just looked at him, grimacing, looking lost. “C’mon, wouldn’t want us all to think you’re losing your touch right? The great Tony Stark can’t fix something? Might have to let Banner take over the company.” Stark actually managed a small, humorless snort at that, while Bruce rolled his eyes.

Steve smiled down at him. “Yeah, Tony. We all know you would never let one of your kids stay down. You’ll have him up and making smoothies in no time. And we’ll help all we can.” He nodded resolutely, like only Captain American could. Tony even through his panic, still gripping the downed robot tightly, gave Steve a raised eyebrow at that. The man blushed. “I, uh, I could help draw schematics or something? Or, uh, bring you coffee?” The team smiled, seeming to finally come down from some high, protected place. “It will be okay, Tony.”

Natasha and Coulson simply nodded, not leaving the positions which served both to guard and sooth their broken team member. Fury, knowing Coulson as he did, knew that they wouldn’t leave his side until all was well. He guessed he’d have to schedule the man another week or two off. Fucking goons just ruined his week.

Tony sniffed, rubbing blood and oil covered gauntlets over his eyes and up through his hair, and shivered once. He clutched the bot, he clutched Dummy, closer and nodded. “It’ll be okay. I’ll fix him. I will.” He looked around at the faces smiling down at him, at the family that had gathered around him for support, not even a one flinching away from him despite what they had all just witnessed. “Thank you,” he said, smiling weakly, but looking less manic, less broken, less lost. His team smiled back at him, patting him soothingly and slowly helping him up, careful not to dislodge Dummy from his shaking grip. Fury had a sudden flash of pity for whoever had orchestrated this, especially when Thor returned and got wind of what had happened. According to Coulson, Thor loved Stark’s bots.

Fury, finally standing down from Def Con 1, looked around at the damage, the carnage, and sighed, knowing that the paperwork for this would just be horrendous and that he wouldn’t be getting anything out of his Avengers team for the next few days, barring world-ending emergency. They had already apparently forgotten he was even in the room, or just did not care. 

Kicking a helmet aside viciously, wincing when a head rolled out of it and splashed blood and vomit across his black boots, he shook his head. He didn’t understand what had happened here, but he would find out. He would find out everything and then he, and SHIELD, and the Avengers would Take Steps to ensure it never happened again.

He didn’t know much right now, but he did know one thing. He was NEVER going to mess with any of Stark’s makeshift little family. Not even the fucking mechanical ones.

Oh, fuck. JARVIS was going to be pissed!

The end.


End file.
